And shed a deathless spell along Each grove's sweet gloom in Psyche's song!*

In vain Burnane, the thunder-riven, Far northward cleft the summer heaven,

Or on the horizon stretched away,
A streak of light, slept Youghal bay.
We gazed but once, and gazing turned,
Filled with the love that round us
burned,

And spoke as speechless glances speak
The thoughts that kindle lip and cheek;
And that bright lady fair, with face
All pale, and darkly-glancing grace,
Cast to the gladdened earth her eyes,
And, faltering, took the purple seat
Boon nature to her child supplies,

Whilst I sat duteous at her feet.

III.

We never met before, and knew

We nevermore should meet again; For seaward at that moment blew The breeze should bear her o'er the main,

O'er half hoarse Ocean's sounding foam,

To light with love another's home, And be to me, through years afar, Lone memory's deeply-mirrored star. And yet we talked not sadly there,

But wished our barks of life had been

Together wafted earlier, ere

Ďark Fate had heaved its gulf be

tween.

And still I asked in trembling tone,
Of him who claimed her as his own,
And of those gorgeous Western skies,
Whose glory lingered in her eyes.
And when she murmured 'twas her

wont

In that far land, at fall of day, Lulled by cool breeze and tinkling font, To sleep the sultry eve away, I vowed if minstrel spirit might

Spring from its earthly fetters free, That ever at that hour my sprite

Should in her bower attendant be, And whisper mid the odours shed By gathered roses round her head, Or mix my memory with the wail Of song from neighbouring nightingale,

Or babbling in the waters' fall,

To her hushed ear my name recall.
And that sweet listener's sole reply

Was blushing cheek and bended eye,
And heath-flower plucked all hastily,
Which well, she said, might emblem be
Of fickle Bard's inconstancy,
A truant tribe and light of faith,

Whose very life's essential bloom
Was fed by woman's fragrant breath,
It mattered not of whom ;
And much she feared the freshing
gale

Would hardly rustle in the sail
Which bears her hence when I, who

now

Low at her feet devoted bow,
Would in the self-same spot so dear,
Pour the same tale to other ear.

IV.

Fast died the day-on Galty Peak
Fair evening lent her rosy cheek,
And up that sky of bluest June
Wheeled from the deep the solemn

moon,

When gay companions thronging round

Proclaimed the fugitives were found, And festive mirth rushed in between, And all was as it ne'er had been. -We met no more-that revel past, Our first sweet meeting was the last.

V.

And years have gone-and time has stolen

Hope from the heart, light from the

eye

And feelings then, all passion-swollen,
Now shrunk to arid darkness lie.
And that long lost regretted one
Is-Angel of the Rainbow-gone,
And treads her path of woman's pain
In isles beyond the Western main.
How little deems the stranger who,
Amid the Carib's sparkling sea,
That pale and graceful one may view,
Shrined in her home tranquility,
That she who there so sheltered dwells,
In warm Bermuda's musky dells,
Once braved the breezes of the North,
And, from their wild hills looking forth,
Had loitered through the summer day
With mountain-bard as wild as they
In utmost Thulé far away.

VI.

And still that dreaming bard will think
That, haply, on the silver brink
Of that clear sea, at vesper hour,